blinking links

lights ignite idly the ideas
that fly through the sky
the stars play connect
the dots detachedly

shooting stars are
mistaken for satellites,
for they travel across
places and spaces

is there space for them
as they play
i-spy and
trick the eye

blink, dear,
they hide

prompt: trapped in a metaphor, hoping for something more a lyric from Andrew Belle's song All Those Pretty Lights